Or maybe luck had nothing to do with it. Maybe a greater hand had been at work.

“Nope.” He stretched out on his side beside her, propped himself up with his elbow on the picnic blanket, and played with her hair. “I want my prize. I found this spot, didn’t I?” He swept a hand around them.

She felt around in the picnic basket, withdrew a biscotti, and held it up.

“Uh-uh. I want something softer and sweeter.”

She reached for the basket again. “I think there’s a piece of that pine nut cake you liked at dinner last—”

He grabbed her hand. “I can think of a much better prize.”

A tingle of excitement spiraled through her at the ardor in his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He brushed her hair aside, leaned close, and pressed a kiss behind her ear.

Whew.

“You do realize . . .” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. “You do realize we’re outside. Anyone could happen by and find us in a clinch.”

“So? This is Italy. You heard the man a few minutes ago. Viva amore. I think the locals would approve of a few passionate kisses in a romantic setting like this.” He nuzzled her neck again.

Eve checked out their picnic spot. They were surrounded by the ruins of an old stone barn, nothing but open fields of bobbing poppies around them over the low walls that remained and a cloudless, cobalt-blue sky overhead. There hadn’t been a single house on the dirt track that had led to this hilltop, which boasted a stunning view.

She shifted toward him. “I’m in.” She snuggled closer to him. “For the record, I wouldn’t let just any guy talk me into heavy-duty kissing in public.”

“I should hope not.”

She gave him a playful swat. “I mean it would take a very special man to convince me to be this bold.” She touched his cheek and softened her voice. “Someone I’d trust with my life—and my heart.”

A sudden, faint sheen shimmered in Brent’s eyes. “I wish I had your skill with words.”

“Your words are fine—and your actions are eloquent.”

“You’re being kind.”

“Nope. Honest.”

“Trust me, I know my limitations—and I’m not great with words. That’s your forte. I’m always afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

His earnestness tightened her throat. “You could never disappoint me.”

“You’ll tell me if I’m not communicating enough, right?”

It was the same concern he’d raised on numerous occasions—and she offered the same reassurance.

“I promise. But that works both ways. If there’s anything I can do to be a better wife, you have to promise to tell me too.”

“You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

“No one’s perfect.”

“You’re perfect for me.”

“That’s how I feel about you.”